


It's Not What It Looks Like...

by reellifejaneway



Series: Dragon Age: One-Shots [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, F/M, Not What It Looks Like, Sorry Not Sorry, War Table (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:25:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reellifejaneway/pseuds/reellifejaneway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A morning that began with the most innocent of intentions degenerates into an experience far more embarrassing when Cullen's belt buckle rebels at the war table. It should have been a simple enough situation to remedy. Except, the Inquisitor catches him in the 'act' - and assumes that her Commander was participating in an altogether different past-time.</p>
<p>A humorous one-shot based on a Tumblr ask-box prompt. Cullen Rutherford and the world of Thedas belong to Bioware. Kiana Trevelyan belongs to me. I'm just a fangirl who can't let go...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not What It Looks Like...

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the tumblr ask-box challenge "send me a prompt and I'll write you a drabble".  
> Prompted by anonymous: #30 "It's not what it looks like!"

“It’s not what it looks like!” The blush that had originally taken root in Cullen’s cheeks had now spread across his nose and up to the tips of his ears. He could hardly bring himself to look her in the eye, let alone formulate a coherent explanation for the mess he currently found himself in.

“Oh isn’t it?” Lady Trevelyan folded her arms, one eyebrow arching in cynical disbelief. “Enlighten me.”

The Commander let out a frustrated moan, his shoulders slumping in defeat. His heavy scarlet mantle, fur and all, was still in a pile on the war room floor. And his hand, Maker take him, was in the _worst_ possible position at the _worst_ possible time.

What had begun as a simple enough idea – namely going to the war table early and get ahead on some intelligence reports from the Western Approach – had suddenly degenerated into mad fumbling when his belt buckle had decided to get caught on the edge of the map’s parchment. Cullen silently cursed his own foolishness. And of course, removing the parchment was not as simple as it should have been. It simply refused to budge; invariably the paper was working itself in tighter between the hinges of his belt’s ornate clasp.

The Commander had been alone when he had initially tossed away his meddlesome cloak, trying desperately to remove the map from the stubborn buckle before the other advisors joined him. Much to his dismay, seconds later the doorknob had rattled and in stepped the Inquisitor herself. It hadn’t taken him long to realise just how awful the scene looked – especially from her point of view. Papers scattered across the floor, his back to the door, cheeks flushed red with mortification, grunting at his own stupidity while his hands working furiously on the now-loosened belt at his waist...

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered, trying to straighten his rebelling breeches and failing miserably. He turned away, still fumbling with his clothing and muttering to himself, painfully aware of her eyes drilling into his back. “Would you stop looking at me like that?”

Kiana Trevelyan let her lip curl up in one corner. No, she was enjoying this far too much. “Like what?” She purred mischievously, letting her gaze sweep over his armour-clad form in appreciation. “It was your choice—”

“It wasn’t a choice! I was trying to fix things before anyone came,” Cullen protested sharply, one hand hovering over his loosened pant laces. “Kiana, please,” he pleaded momentarily, his face burning with humiliation. “I swear I wasn’t... Just let me explain!”

“Explain what?” Kiana taunted again, her light irises darkening. “Do you seriously mean to tell me that I didn’t just walk in and catch you—?”

“That’s _exactly_ what I mean to tell you,” Cullen’s voice dropped to treacherously low levels, his timbre resonating through his chest and escaping through barred teeth. “If you would stop indulging your imagination for long enough perhaps you would _realise_ that.”

“Do you need help?” Kiana pressed, a bubbling laugh escaping her at the red tint that swept across her Commander’s face at her taunting. “I’m being serious, I swear!” She tried to stifle her laughter but her mask broke and she dissolved into fits of giggles. “Maker, Cullen, how am I supposed to breathe with you struggling so? Here.”

Cullen grimaced and swatted at her hands. “Leave it! I can handle this!”

“Clearly you can’t,” Kiana countered hotly, her pale pink eyes flashing at him from beneath long lashes. “It’s not a sparring match. How did you get it stuck on the map anyway?”

The Commander let out a weary sigh, resigning himself as she bent down to aid him. “I was leaning in to rearrange some markers and it must have got snagged. The parchment is fraying on one edge – see?”

Trevelyan bit back another giggle. “Oh, I can see alright. It’s really worked itself in there hasn’t it? Oh wait I’ve nearly got it.” She sank to her knees then, wriggling her way between him and the table so that her eyes were on level with the firmly jammed buckle. “Hold still!”

“I’m trying, but you’re pulling too hard.”

“Well then don’t try and push me away! It’s not like I’m _hurting_ you, for Andraste’s sake.” Kiana gently twisted the metal toggle on its hinge. “Almost there.”

Cullen stared down at the mop of wavy blonde hair, his back tensing at the sight of her in such a compromising position. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t flirted before, but this was close – too close. He bit down on his lower lip, doing his utmost to ignore the way the mage’s slender, pale fingers worked at the conundrum before her.

“Got it!” Kiana announced triumphantly _–_ at the exact same moment they both heard the door hinges creak.

Whirling around to see the other two advisors in mid-step, eyes wide as they hesitated in the doorway, Kiana blurted, “I was just assisting the Commander.”

“Y-yes, we can see that,” Josephine murmured, her dark lashes fluttering in disbelief.

Leliana was doing an _almost_ sterling job of masking her smile. _Almost_. “Come, Josie, I believe we have interrupted a very important debriefing.”

Cullen simply stumbled back, pulling up his now freed belt and fastening it as hurriedly as his shaking fingers would allow. “No, wait... it’s...”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Kiana finished for him, standing hurriedly.

“Oh I’m sure it’s not,” Leliana murmured in thinly-veiled glee, dragging away a stunned Josephine and closing the door behind her.

The pair stood in terrified silence for several long moments, staring at the oak door long after the latch had clicked back into place. Finally, Kiana reached up and swept one white tress behind her ear, her voice strangely quiet.

“I’m sorry, Cullen.”

The Commander’s mouth opened and shut, but not a sound emerged.

Trevelyan turned and glanced up at him sheepishly. “I mean it.”

“We’re never going to hear the end of this, you know,” he mumbled.

“Probably not,” Kiana conceded, her pale cheeks flushing as pink as her eyes. Then, with surprising agility, she spun on the toe of her boot and stretched up to press a feather-light kiss to his flushed cheek. “Might as well go with it,” was the only explanation she offered before casually gliding out of the room.

Even once she had gone, and Cullen was left alone to piece together his shattered composure, the Commander could do nothing but give a shaky smile – and touch his fingertips to the place where the Inquisitor’s lips had met his cheek.


End file.
